


we build these walls to watch them fall

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they return to Storybrooke, Hook stays, and tries to understand this new Land Without Magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

1.  
When they arrive in Storybrooke, everyone disembarks save for Hook, who lingers behind them watching the happy family.   He only looks at them for so long before he must turn away, a tight pain in his chest. 

He has other things to do, he tells himself.   After all, they’ve just arrived.  He is so used to docking the Jolly Roger that he’s already running through the mental list of things he needs to do before Emma turns and looks at him.

“Hey,” she says softly.  “You coming?”

Hook takes a moment, then shakes his head.  “No, lass, I’m not.”  He gestures to the ship around them.  “I’ve got to take care of my girl.”

Emma purses her lips then nods.  “Okay,” she says, “I’ll see you later?”

The last statement ends in a question, and he throws her a wink and a grin.  “Oh,” he says, stepping towards her, “I told you there’s still fun to be had, love.”  Emma just rolls her eyes and starts down the gangplank, following Henry and the others.

That is when he turns away, smile disappearing from his face as he heads below deck to survey his ship.

For the first hour, while the sun is still up, it’s easy for Hook to get lost in the rhythm of maintaining his old girl.  He checks the sails, notes which ropes need to be repaired and how low he is on ammunition and gunpowder.  He checks his freshwater reserves below deck, grabs some to take back up to his cabin.  He is low in rations, and he supposes that he will have to seek provisions before he heads out to sea again.

 _If_ he heads out to sea again.

He takes the water upstairs and leaves it out in the sun while he surveys the deck for damage.   He is tired and that smell must be coming from him.  He is ready for a wash-up and a change of clothing.

The movements that he makes – swinging on ropes and climbing up and down stairs, traveling through the hold – leave him with a slow burn in his muscles that continues to distract him from his thoughts.  He is grateful for it because he does not want to think right now.  He just wants to burn off this restless energy that floods through his veins.

Eventually, as the sun begins to sink to the horizon, he returns to his cabin and strips off his jacket, his vest, and his shirt.  He grabs a scrap of cloth he keeps near the washbasin and tries to wash the grime of Neverland off of his face.

His stomach growls, bringing his thoughts back to the happy (if odd family) that exited his ship – the family that he very much did not want to think about right now.   Hook knows that there may be a scrap of salted pork or biscuit somewhere in the ship.  He could always go into town and find food, but he won’t.

He made his decision not to follow them unless there was trouble before they landed.   He is exhausted, mentally and physically and emotionally, and the thought of walking into that diner with the Charming family, the Dark One, and Regina makes him uncomfortable.  He knows that the little dwarves and all the other inhabitants of the town still think of him as Cora’s accomplice and as a villain, and he doesn’t want to be judged right now.

He’s done a lot of that on his own this past week anyway.

Hook dumps a jug of water over his head, wetting his hair.  He still hasn’t spoken much to Emma since she cornered him about Liam, and he feels uneasy about that.  There is so much that the wants to say but doesn’t, because he’s already said enough and there’s only so much that one can say to the object of their affection before coming repetitive.  

He runs the scrap of cloth across his face, wiping off the kohl that lines his eyes.   His fingers twitch when he thinks about watching Emma leave to go find Henry and Pan, the easy way that her parents touched her and how badly he wanted to offer her some comfort as well.  His fingers twitch when he thinks about how he wanted to be at her side when she returned with Henry.  Instead, he has been at the front, at the helm, doing whatever possible to save Henry and bring them home.

He has been spending so much time moving so as to keep his mind off of everything and now that he’s standing still, everything starts to flood back in and it’s discomforting, to say the least.

He changes clothes, but does not put back on his vest and jacket. He takes off his hook as well, leaves it on his bedside table.   It doesn’t matter much if he’s in his shirtsleeves and unarmed – it’s his ship, after all. 

Hook doesn’t know what he should do.  He wanders his cabin, fiddling with items, debating if he should make a list of supplies that he needs or if he should sleep.   His thoughts keep drifting back to Emma, how he’s not sure what to do if he stays in Storybrooke, if he will even be happy here.  He wants to be happy with Emma – wants to make her happy, wants to be the one to comfort her – but there are a lot of obstacles and he’s not entirely sure what she thinks about him now.   He wants to fight for her, or at least put up enough of a fight that it’s obvious his intentions are good and true, but, well, there’s a lot that Emma needs to figure out and he doesn’t want to hover over her shoulder, waiting.

He can wait just fine right here.

There’s a knock on the cabin door and he reaches for his sword, which he has left on his desk.    He doesn’t know who would board a pirate’s ship let alone knock, but his nerves are on edge at what he might encounter after all they’ve been through.

It is Emma, holding a white bag, arms wrapped around herself.

“Let me in, it’s freaking freezing outside,” she says. 

He steps aside, standing in the doorway as she makes her way over to the large desk that takes up most of his quarters.  It’s like he’s conjured her from his thoughts  – blonde hair shimmering in the candle light, the smell of food wafting through the air as she takes boxes out and puts them on his maps.  He can’t even protest right now – he just closes his eyes, brushing them with the tips of his fingers.

He has to be hallucinating right now.  Lack of sleep, lack of food, total exhaustion.

“Close the door, Hook, it’s cold outside,” Emma commands him, and he obeys.  He would always obey.

Emma turns to face him, studies his face.  “You look younger without the eyeliner,” she points out.  “Anyway, I thought I’d bring you dinner.”

The expression that crosses his face must be easy to distinguish, because she continues without missing a beat. “When I was in the system, sometimes my foster families would celebrate birthdays or something else and I wouldn’t know what to do because I wasn’t family – I was some interloper sleeping in a spare bed and eating their food.”  She takes a deep breath, hands curling at her side.  “I was never family, even though I did everything right – or, at least, I tried.  So I’d say that I had homework, and I’d hide in my room until I thought they forgot about me.”

He can’t breathe or think – she’s hit the nail on the head, this beautiful woman that he loves, and he smiles, appreciating her discretion.  She could have called him out when they docked, she could have made an issue about his hesitance, but she didn’t.

 _You and I, we understand each other_.

“Thank you,” he tells her, eyes flicking to the weirdly shaped boxes.

“Okay, so I’m not sure what you like so I brought a bit of everything,” Emma says.  There’s a blush her checks –is she flustered? He can feel heat rising in his cheeks too, standing here without his vest or coat or hook, hair wet, feeling exposed in ways that he hasn’t in years.  Everything about this, every artifice that he’s constructed over the years is stripped away and he feels like he is more vulnerable than he’s ever been since he was a young boy.  He would give her his heart if she only asked.

“This is a cheeseburger – it’s basically just beef and cheese and bread – and these are fries, they’re just potatoes, and this is something that David thought you might like, he said he ate it a lot as a kid so I guess some things cross realms so – “

He recognizes the food in question and he smiles.  “Aye, my mother made that – she called it cottage pie but it was fairly popular in the region where I grew up.”  He can see the meat and gravy buried below potatoes, with peas and carrots and small onions, and his mouth waters.   

Hook closes his eyes for a moment.  The sheer amount of thought put into this – for David to help Emma bring him food, for Emma to be here in the first place – is overwhelming right now.  It is too much to think about this kindness from her family, though it does not surprsise him that they would be kind.

It surprises Hook that they would be kind to _him_.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Emma says, turning to a brown paper bag.  She pulls out a bottle of rum, and hands it to him.

“Granny doesn’t know,” she says with a wink.  “I thought it was only right to replenish your supply.”

“You didn’t need to do that, love,” he says softly.   “You should be with your family right now.”

Emma looks away, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “Don’t you have, like, a wood stove or something? You’ll freeze out here.”

“I’ll be fine, lass,” Hook says.  “I’ve endured worse.”

Emma looks concerned for a moment, but she hands him the bottle.   While he opens the rum, she is rummaging throughout his cabin and finds two glasses.   He fills them both.

“You better eat before it gets cold,” Emma says.  Hook nods, and pulls a chair up to the table, eagerly eyeing the cottage pie that she brought him.  Emma pulls up another chair and sits beside him, picking at the fries.  He raises his eyebrows at her hand and she merely bites into the fry in front of her with a smug grin.

They eat in companionable silence, though eventually he does say something.  “I’m grateful for this kindness, Emma,” he tells her, the food and rum warming his body.  “And for your company.”

“Of course,” she says, her eyes soft in the candlelight.  “And thank you, for everything that you did for us. I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough.”

He swallows his food, shrugging his shoulders.  “Of course,” he responds, because he doesn’t know what else to say.  There’s no way to describe the feelings that rise in her chest at her presence in his small quarters, no words to make sense of how it feels to be here, with her.   He looks down at his food, looks back up at her to see her looking at him with a strange look in her eyes.   She catches his gaze and flutters her eyelashes, shifting in her seat and looking away.

“I should probably get back.”  She stands, and the scrape of her chair against the wooden floor is so loud in the small space.   He stands up too, because it is polite, though she looks at him strangely for a moment.

That’s when she crosses the distance between them and kisses him.

She rests her hands on his shoulders, the moment of her lips soft against his, and it takes his slow, rum-sodden brain a few moments to process what is happening before it is done, and she is stepping back, looking at him from under heavy-lidded eyes. She licks her lips, and he wants to desperately to reach for her, to pull her back into for another kiss, and then another, and another.

He licks his lips to, and looks away.  He takes a step back.

He will win her heart, but he knows that it is hidden away behind walls of iron and chains of steel.   While she has opened to him, slowly, there is still much distance to be covered before they will be there yet.

And he will wait, and win her heart, because she will choose him.   Or, at least, she will kiss him a few more times if he plays his cards right. 

“Breakfast,” she says, walking towards the door.  “Tomorrow morning at Granny’s.  It’s on the main street, has a sign out front that says, well – “

“Granny’s – “ he finishes.  He smiles.  “What time, love?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Whenever.  I’ll see you then?””

His smile grows.  “I wouldn’t miss it, love.”

A blush rises to her cheeks and she tucks her head down, pulling the door open and heading out into the darkness.

He sits down in his chair, staring at the food in front of him.  He touches his fingers to his lips, and smiles slowly.


	2. two

 2.

Hook rises with the sun for the first time in weeks.  He has forgotten what it’s like to sleep without worries, without the thought of revenge or Pan on his mind.

Needless to say, it’s the first restful night he’s had in three hundred years.

He watches the sun rise over the small harbor of Storybrooke, debating how early is too early to start wandering around the town.  He’s not sure that all of the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest know of him personally but he is dressed as a pirate and he wonders how much of a knee-jerk response they have these days to seeing someone dressed in black with a gleaming silver hook.

Emma’s visit to his ship last night has changed things and now he knows he will stay, that he will see where this connection between them goes.  It’s been nearly two months since he first met her and he’s not at all surprised that things have escalated to this state where they are.  It was quicker with Milah, much more intense but she was running from something.

Someone.

He’s always fallen hard and fast, he has. 

For the first time, the thought of Milah doesn’t sting like a fresh wound which is not to say that he’s forgotten her.  That would be impossible.  It’s just...instead of being a ghost that haunts his waking existence, she’s more like the reminder of just what he is capable of.

Maybe, one day, he can be that man again.

When it is apparent that people are awake, some of them even approaching the docks like they have work to do, Hook decides to head to shore.  It’s fairly easy to find the main street of the town and even easier to find Granny’s, but his hand shakes when he reaches for the door handle, and it is only the feeling of sweet relief when he sees Emma in a booth waiting for him that makes it stop shaking.

“Good morning,” she says with a smile.  She’s got a mug of something in front of him that smells faintly of cinnamon and something stronger and more pungent.  Coffee.  It’s been a long time since he’s had some, being as rare as it was in the Enchanted Forest and all of the other realms, and perhaps this is the price – a land without magic gets its own magic beans.

There is a second steaming mug in front of him and he sighs in contentment.  “Thanks, lass. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure.”  He closes his eyes in pleasure when he inhales the scent.

When he opens them, Emma is looking at him strangely, head turned to the side, eyes questioning.

“So, Swan, you ask me to meet you but do you intend to starve me?”

Coffee he knows but the other items on the menu confuse him, so Emma translates – at least, until Henry arrives on his way to school.  He slides into the seat next to Emma and without a moment’s pause provides non-stop commentary on exactly what tastes best, so that Hook eventually agrees to let Henry order for him.

Their conversation is stilted because of the boy, who spends the time waiting for food curled into Emma’s body, her arm around his shoulders.    Hook doesn’t mind answering questions about the sea or his ship, and the way that the two of them – mother and son – look so contented, he can’t help but feel at ease himself.  Conversation flows freely as a result of that, and probably the second cup of coffee offered by the dark-haired waitress who stares at him for a moment before sauntering off towards the counter.

“You should come by and get a better look at her, lad,” Hook offers, and Henry’s eyes grow wide with astonishment. 

“Really?”

Emma smiles when Henry looks at her in confirmation.  “Yeah, of course.  That’s very nice of you, Hook.”

“Of course,” Hook says with a small smile of his own.  There is a moment, in the exchanging of smiles, that Emma looks at him with the same gaze she had last night, the one that preceded the kiss and which draws him in like a moth to a flame, but that is when the food arrives.

Henry has ordered him pancakes and bacon, which remind him of the food his mother made when he was a lad himself.   Between the meal in front of him and the coffee (and  counting the food Emma brought him last night), this is the best he’s eaten in years.

He says so, and Henry starts to pry for more information about what pirates eat before Emma reminds him that today is a school day.  He polishes off some scrambled eggs and runs from the diner, leaving Emma and Hook to sit and finish their own meals.  Hook takes a swig of coffee and clears his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something, love,” he tells her, and her eyes go wide for a moment before she composes herself.

“Okay, yeah,” she says, her body slightly tensed, and he wonders what exactly she expects him to say in such a public place.

“I’ve been thinking I might stay in Storybrooke for a spell.  There are some minor repairs I need to do on the _Jolly Roger_ , provisions to acquire and so forth,” he says.  “And I believe I promised someone some fun.”  He winks with the part and Emma rolls her eyes at his words.

“Fun, huh? Like repairing your ship?”

“Not quite, love,” Hook says, “but I think it’s suffice to say that some things don’t change across realms and that is a man who is courting a fair lady such as yourself – “

Emma snorts.  Hook clears his throat.

“Perhaps ‘fair’ is too strong of a word – I’ve seen you fight after all –“

“You need money,” Emma says, slouching down in her booth and crossing her arms over her chest.

“ I take it your land doesn’t deal in these.”  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of gold coins that he had taken from a chest earlier that morning.  “I’ve got these, and jewels and other baubles, but diamonds cannot fix my ship.”

Emma’s eyes go from the coins to his face.  “So, cash for gold, then?” she asks.  “This is really gold, right?”  Hook nods.  “Surprisingly easier than you think.”

She pays for the food over his objections to keep some of the coins for herself (“my treat” she tells him and he locks the information away so that one day it can be his treat for her)and follows him back to his ship, where he shows her the chests of gold hidden in the hold and she snaps pictures on her phone.   Her eyes pass over the diamonds and coins but linger on the jewelry.   There is a particular necklace that her eyes fall on, one with a green gem as green as her eyes, but she glances away.  He would offer it to her but he should not take it, and so he palms it and slips it into his jacket pocket, just in case.

“Okay,” she tells him when she’s done, “Give me a few days and I can definitely get you some cash.”

Hook nods.  “I appreciate this, love,” he says, and she shrugs her shoulders.   There is a burst of noise and she unclips a radio from her belt, listening to her father’s voice over the tiny device.  She says, “I’ll be there,” and smiles a small, sorry smile at Hook.  “Duty calls.”

He nods and sees her off his ship, which means he’s left to his own devices.  He tries to determine what to do next, what can possibly kill the idle hours.  He’s not used to being so sedentary.  He’s always been so active, seeking revenge or plotting and this idleness is vaguely disconcerting. 

He writes in his Captain’s Logbook, something he hasn’t done since he left Neverland, details everything that has happened in the years since.  There is, needless to say, a lot to write.

When he is finished, he is surprised to find Emma on nearly every page – descriptions of her bravery and tales of her fight to reunite her family.  It is his own love for her documented here, in the phrasing of his words and the stroke of his pen, and it suddenly makes everything far more real than two kisses have yet to accomplish.

...

Emma returns later that night with David, and he helps them pack several boxes with his treasure, and helps them carry it to Emma’s vehicle. 

“I’ve got a few friends who can give me money for this,” she tells him. 

“I can help –“ he offers but she shakes her head.

“I can handle it.”

When she returns, it is with empty boxes and a thick wad of currency. 

She takes him to a store, and helps him pick out food, but so much of what people eat these days is meant to be cooked or kept cool, and Killian feels a lump in his stomach.  He has no stove though he could make a fire, no icebox nor cold store cold enough for these goods.  He finds bread and hard cheese, and some dried meats, and pays for it with his new money.  Emma drives him back to his ship, trying to make small talk but failing.  He can feel rather than see her gaze, and half-heartedly tries, but it’s not easy.

His heart is heavy with the burdens of his new world.

When she finally leaves him, he stares at the food on his table and resists the urge to flip the whole thing over.  This land is far more confusing than any other he’s been to – far more frustrating, the currency issue being the easiest to resolve – and he wonders if perhaps it would be better for him to find a bean and return to the Enchanted Forest, find a new crew, and become a pirate again. That would be the easy way to handle things.

The thought of leaving Emma, though – that is a pain in his heart, one that throbs and grows when he considers the mere prospect.  Emma, who he loves, and who he thinks might like him just fine.  Emma, who kisses him at random moments and takes him to get provisions.  Emma, who is his entire world right now.

He feels off-kilter, knowing that his world is no longer dependent on himself but rather on a feisty blonde woman who is growing to trust him.  He feels off-kilter because his fate is now tied to hers, and what she wants from him, and it’s so strange to be anything like this right now.  He is a pirate who is not even in command of his own life.

He sighs, staring at the food.  He will adjust, somehow.  He’s handled Neverland, he can handle this land without magic.

He is woken the next morning by the sound of something loud being maneuvered onto the deck.

Hook storms out of his cabin to find Emma trying to maneuver a small white object onto his ship.

“What is this?” he asks, and she throws him an exasperated look.

“A little help?” she asks, and he does his best to assist her as they roll the object – it is on a cart of some sort – into his cabin.

“It’s a mini-fridge,” she tells him.  “We’ll have to rig up a power cord over the rail and onto here but at least you can keep food cold.”

He stares at her, open-mouthed, and she nods.  “I’ll go get the heater, it’s much smaller.”

He tries to help as best he can while she comes in and rearranges his cabin – putting the mini-fridge in one corner - and it’s odd watching her move his piles of books and string a thin cord from his cabin over the rail and onto the dock and even up towards a building.  The machines emit low hums that are irritating at best since he’s used to such silence, but he is too overwhelmed by Emma’s actions to really consider the prospects.

“Thank you,” he tells her, trying to make her understand how sincere his words are and how much he appreciates her kindness.

“No problem,” she says with a shrug.  “Want to grab dinner at Granny’s later?”

He tells her yes, and watches her walk to her car in silence.  His heart is too full to speak.

…

It goes on like this for some time.  Emma stops by with a modern trinket – a space heater to make his cabin warmer, a propane stove to help him cook food – and she doesn’t linger long but she smiles when she leaves. 

He spends his days fixing up odds and ends around the ship and his evenings are nearly always with her, be it dinner at Granny’s or a drink in his cabin.   It’s a strange routine they’ve established, but he looks forward to it and on the nights when she has Henry, her absence fills the space with an emptiness he hasn’t felt before.

Time is different here, after so many years in Neverland, and he finds the idle nature of his days to be an utter distraction.  He needs to be doing something, and he’s not quite sure what it should be.  He walks around the town some days, just to get himself moving, and he often stops and lingers outside of the local clothing store, studying the odd fashions that people choose to wear here.   He likes his leather – it’s appropriate for the sea – but he envies the men with their heavy coats to keep them warm against this bitter cold.

One day he stops in and buys himself clothing – a sturdy pair of pants the store owner calls ‘jeans’ and a heavy shirt (black of course) and a black jacket.  The owner convinces him to buy a scarf and hat too and he does, carrying the package back with him to his ship, though he does not put the clothes on.  They linger in his periphery, a constantly reminder of his new life, and it’s as if changing out of his leathers would change him for good.

Emma notices it one day when she stops by for a drink, but she doesn’t comment on it, other than making a sly remark about how black looks good on him. 

He wonders what other colors she might find appealing on him as well. 

Hook returns to the store and buys more clothing but keeps the articles save the jacket in a chest, for when he will be ready to wear them.


	3. Chapter 3

Things progress. 

The weather gets warmer than suddenly colder, and a squall hits at the same time so that his deck is frozen and he is so very grateful for all that Emma has done for him, including the space heater.

When he thaws out, he decides to head towards the library, where Emma has told him that he can borrow books.  His own fear is that the crocodile’s woman is there, and he is worried that she will not let him past the front doors.

His fears are negated, however, as Belle is kind and forgiving, telling him how grateful she is to hear about his help in getting Rumple’s grandson home, and she helps him get a library card even without photographic identification (he will need to ask Emma what she means by that) and he is allowed to borrow  books.   She recommends some - “everything is so different here so there are so many new editions to read!” - and sends him home with several books on both this realm and some about adventures and one about the sea, which is finds to be a balm to his soul.

He is grateful that Storybrooke is on the coast, and that his boat is always rocking gently beneath him.  He loves the sea more than most things but not nearly as much as Emma, and so he is grateful to have both of them in one place.

...

He exchanges his hook for his fake hand, because he doesn’t really need a hook when he’s not fighting or working on his ship, so it alternates between the two.  It helps, because he also decides to try the new clothing that he has bought. 

He has changed into denim pants that he has bought, and is buttoning up the blue shirt that the shopkeeper told him would complement his eyes when Emma barges in.  He can normally hear her footsteps before she enters but the rustle of clothing must have prevented that because he stops mid-button and Emma stops in the doorway, holding the doorknob, mouth open in shock.

“Oh my god,” she says softly, then looks away. “Sorry!”

“It’s quite all right, lass,” he tells her, wondering if her expression of shock was because of the clothing or because of his state of undress.  He finishes buttoning the shirt and turns.  “Really, I don’t mind if you sneak a peek.”

Emma responds, “Har har, Hook,” but she turns back to him and just stares at him.  He shifts uncomfortably, bare feet against the hardwood floors, but he’s gotten somewhat used to being vulnerable in front of her.  He would not allow anyone else to seem him like this, wearing strange clothes in a strange land.

“Give me your honest opinion, Swan,” he says with a laugh.  “I’m probably heard worse.”

She shakes her head, bringing her hands up in front of her mouth.  “Did you pick this out yourself?” she asks.

“The shop girl wanted to help me,” he tells her and she laughs, covering her mouth with gloved fingers.

“Of course she did.  Did she follow you into the fitting room.”

Hook raises an eyebrow.  “She tried.  It was off-putting, to say the least.”

“You look good, Hook,” Emma tells him with a genuine smile.  “You look really good.”

He ducks his head, embarrassed by her praise, scratches the side of his noise.  “Thanks,” he says shyly, because he’s heard this before, that he is handsome, and has had plenty of offers from women to warm their beds but it is something quite different to hear such praise from the woman you love.

“Did you buy shoes?” Emma asks, looking down at his bare feet, and Hook shakes his head.  “Thought I could just keep my boots – “

“Grab your boots, then, and I’ll go take you to get some shoes and socks,” she says. “They have these boots that have steel toes now so that if you drop something, your toes are protected.”  She smiles.  “Seems appropriate protection for a pirate to have.”

His interest is piqued by her description, so he puts his boots on and grabs the jacket he bought.  Emma nods approvingly as he follows her out the door to her small vehicle, and as he settles into the passenger’s seat, he feels oddly warm for the first time since he’s arrived in Storybrooke.

…

It takes nearly a fortnight before Neal stops by.

“Thought I’d come and say thanks in person,” he tells Hook, who nods and brings the rum out to them.

They talk aimlessly, as Neal tells him about trying to make amends with his father and about Henry, and finally he turns the topic of conversation to Emma.

“She told her parents about how we met, and what happened,” he tells Hook.  When Hook looks confused, Neal takes a large gulp of rum.  “How I found out she was the savior and let her get arrested.  And how I didn’t come back for her once August told me the curse was broken.”  He stops, and sighs.  “I didn’t know she was pregnant or I would have stayed, taken the bame.”

“Would you?” Hook asks, not to be combative but this man is still angry (much like his younger counterpart) but he is not as brave as the young Baelfire was.  He does not think Neal is a coward like his father, but rather that Neal is so content to allow things to transpire with minimal interference that he does not ruffle feathers and may not fight for what he wants.

Hook has definite feelings about a man who does not fight for what he wants.

Neal looks over at him, and he wonders if the other man sees him as more of a threat than anything else.  It is not Hook’s intention to make Neal feel uncomfortable, but he cares for Emma and he thinks she cares for him (she shows her affection in her actions, that much is true) and yet he does not want to break up this family any more than they are already broken.  He is a pirate, but he has some moral code.

Neal shakes his head.  “I’m not sure.  I feel like I would have wanted to – I love Henry, and if he’s what came from the two of us being together then that’s a pretty amazing thing – but I’m not sure.  August spooked me pretty bad and I don’t know if I would have been selfless.  It just doesn’t run in my family like it does in hers.”

Hook huffs, because it’s true.  Milah left her family to run away with him and make herself happy, the Dark One gained power for himself, and even Neal’s grandfather was a righteous self-centered git.   Not like Hook himself has been as selfless as any of the Charming family, but he can see the point.

“I’m not even sure if she would have wanted me to anyway,” Neal continues.  “I love Emma but she’s as stubborn as a mule and when she’s pissed at you, you know it.”

Hook takes a sip of his rum.  “Aye, mate, that I do.”

…

Emma brings Henry one afternoon, and Hook spends the time watching the young man run around the ship.   Henry has an active imagination and wants to act out some of the more ambitious battles and accomplishments of Hook’s long career, and he can’t help but follow the boy from port to starboard, up and back, telling stories and answering Henry’s questions.

It is the most fun he’s had in a long time and reliving the past reminds him why he joined the Navy to begin with. 

It also leaves a sharp pain in his side for he is most decidedly _not_ twelve years old anymore, and cannot run as fast or as far as Emma’s lad.  

Emma has drifted off somewhere, and he doesn’t think much about it until Henry decides he wants a tour of the inside of the captain’s cabin, to see the maps, and Hook obliges.  Of course, once he enters the cabin, he notices Emma skimming through his logbook whereas Henry notices only the large maps.

His stomach drops.  He remembers, so clearly, writing about Neverland and expressing so much esteem for her in those pages and now she may very well be reading them.  It’s not like he poured his heart out, waxed poetic about the color of her hair or the way her smiles make him weak in the knees, but it’s so very terrifying to him to think that a part of him might be there and that she can see it and read it and _know_.

He’s already made his feelings clear but this is different. 

Emma turns when they come in, and brushes something away from her face quickly.  “So what did you guys get up to out there?” she asks, and Henry launches into extensive and exaggerated detail about Hook’s many adventures, while he stands to the side, trying to ignore the tension that he feels radiating from Emma.

“I fear the lad may be prone to hyperbole,” he tells Emma, who raises her eyebrows at his speech.  “Nothing I did was any different than any other pirate in the realm.”

“Except sail to Neverland and cross realms to begin with,” Henry points out.  Emma pulls her son close for a hug, and starts to march him to the door.

“We shouldn’t take up much of Hook’s time,” she says, and Henry corrects her.

“Actually, Emma, his name is Killian, and he told me I could call him Captain Jones,” Henry tells her and she looks over at Hook, eyes wide.

“I thought – “

“I wasn’t lying when I told you my name, lass,” he says softly.   He turns away from her and to Henry.  “It was a lovely afternoon, mate, and if you ever wanted to join my crew, you know where to look.”  He extends his hand and Henry takes it, shaking it.  He pats the lad on the shoulder and looks at Emma, who can’t meet his eyes.

Right.  She’s read it then. 

Suddenly the hope that he’s been keeping all along starts to fade, and he starts to wonder if she’s been so kind because that’s just who she is, and maybe  he’s been misreading her all along.  Maybe she feels like she owes him since his ship has been damaged and he helped her save her son. 

“Lovely afternoon, Swan, feel free to bring Henry back any time and I’ll put him to work,” he tells her, trying to make his tone lighter than he feels.  She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her.

He finds the rum.

It’s dark, and he’s staring at the log entries, with enough rum and not enough food in his system so that his cheeks feel flushed and his body feels as if it is vibrating, when there is knock at his door.

She never knocks.

He doesn’t really know if he wants to see her.

“Come in,” he says anyway, because he is polite (or, at least, trying to be).  He stands, wobbles a little, supports himself on the desk behind him.

“Are you drunk?” Emma asks, stepping through the door and closing it behind her.  He smiles and holds up his cup.

“Perchance,” he says.  “Perhaps.  Not quite yet, but on my way love.  Care to join me?”

She takes the cup from him and finishes it in a single swallow, giving it back to him.  She is so close that he can smell her perfume and feel her warmth and it is overwhelming (it is the first word that comes to mind when she’s near him because she makes him feel so many things all that once like love and lust and pain and hope that it’s overwhelming, a shock to his system).

“I read your log,” she says.

“I gathered as much when I found you in here reading it,” he replies.

“I don’t know why I did it – it wasn’t my place,” she tells him.  She’s not looking at him but rather down and away.  He remains perfectly still, waiting for her to tell him that he’s an idiot and that she’s chosen Neal and that all his bravado about this being fun was just a ruse because sitting in his cabin listening to his innuendos and helping him find his way in this strange world can’t possibly be fun. 

“Do you really think that I’m a hero?” she asks, looking up, eyes wet.  “All those things – those are things you really think about me?”

He frowns.  “I wouldn’t have written them down if I didn’t believe them to be true,” he tells her.  “It’s a logbook of my journey, Emma, I don’t write – “

She steps forward then and grabs the collar of his vest, pulling him close so that their foreheads can rest against each other.  He rests his fake hand against her back, his good hand against her hip.

“No one thinks those things about me,” she says, “no one sees me the way you do, and I don’t understand why you see me like that.  Like I’m some amazing person and not some lost girl.”

He reaches up, tilts her head so they can see eye to eye.  Her arms come to rest on his shoulders.

“Not all who wander are lost,” he tells her, and she snorts, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Oh god, are you reading _Lord of the Rings_?” she asks. 

“Belle recommended it,” he points out, and she laughs again, sliding deeper into his embrace and allow him to holder her tighter.  He rests his hand in her hair and tells her, softly, “I believe in you above all else, even if you don’t believe in yourself.  I’ve seen what you can do, and that is why I love you.”

She stills in his arms, then pulls herself back, looking at him with a look of awe and astonishment, as if no one has ever told her this before (it can’t be true, she has such loving parents and such a wonderful son, he cannot believe that no one has ever told her this) and she says, “Thank you.”

And then she kisses him.

It is not an ordinary kiss.  It starts slow but accelerates in earnest, and soon he is nipping at her jaw and she is whimpering, griping his hair tighter to guide his mouth back to hers, biting his lip and making him moan into his mouth.

It is with this moan that he stumbles and they pitch sideways onto the floor.  Emma is on top of him, elbow against his ribs, and he is beneath her, quite enjoying the view.

“You are _drunk_ ,” she tells him, and he shrugs because he is not one to argue with a pretty lady.  She kisses him again, softly, before standing up and reaching down to give him a hand.

“Let’s get some food in you, and some rum in me, and maybe we can meet halfway,” she says, walking towards the mini-fridge which is starting to store more of her food than his these days – cans of beverages that she brings with her and leaves, other food items he is unfamiliar with but which she brings to share while they drink.

She’s also left scarves and gloves and hats, and one time a sweater, and thinks nothing of it when he points it out to her on her next appearance.

The fact that she brings food, and leaves it here, and drops her coat on the chair and feels comfortable enough to page through his logbook...

...it’s like she considers this place her home too.

He wipes his hand across his face and closes his eyes.   Then, he opens them again to find Emma removing a block of cheese and finding a knife nearby.

“Old trick I learned,” she says, cutting off a hunk of cheese and handing it to him, “is to eat fatty foods to stop the alcohol from being absorbed.”  She cuts a smaller piece for herself and pours more rum.   He chews thoughtfully, and then considers the circumstances.

“It won’t take long for me to sober up, love,” he says, pulling up a chair next to her.  Usually they sit on opposite sides of the table but this – this is different.  She seems to appreciate it, pulling her chair closer and resting her leg against his.  She takes a sip of her rum and smiles at him.

He chooses that moment to lean in for a kiss, wiping the vestiges of rum from the corner of her mouth with his tongue.  He watches her eyes flutter closed and open slowly when he pulls back.

“How long?” he asks softly, and Emma says, “since we came back from Neverland.  I just didn’t want to think about it too much and suddenly it became the only thing I thought about.”

“I noticed,” he says, rubbing his hand against his forehead.  Emma rolls her eyes and cuts off another piece of cheese.

“Mary Margaret and David are trying for a baby,” she tells him, lifting her eyebrows to communicate how disturbing that thought is to her.  Hook is not surprised.  He remembers, clear as day, the woman’s breathless confession in the cave, and he has known it would only be a matter of time until Emma had a sibling, the way that she and her husband looked at each other. 

Emma will always be the lost girl to Mary Margaret and David, the lost girl to herself, the girl who was sent through the wardrobe and spent the better part of her life struggling to find who she is.  No wonder she is surprised when he sees her clearer than she sees herself.

“And I didn’t want to be there anymore, while my parents...you know,” she gestures with her cup, “and so I came up with excuses.  ‘Oh, I’m meeting Hook at Granny’s, don’t wait up’ and ‘Oh, I’m supposed to meet Hook about this’ and they just stopped asking and it stopped being excuses.  I wanted to come here.”  She takes a deep breath and looks down at her lap.  “I wanted to stay here.  I started to feel too comfortable – “

Just as he suspected.  “And you read my logbook,” he says softly.  Emma nods.

“I’ve never had someone care about me as unconditionally as you do.”  Emma fiddles with the knife, sticking it in the cheese.  “Never had someone care about me in that way - not because I was pretty or feisty or street-smart, but because I was brave.  I never had someone believe in me, until you.”

Hook smiles, reaching for her hand, but Emma one-ups him and leans forward for another kiss, which he is reluctant to break when she pulls back.

“And you – you’re just like me,” she says softly.  She’s leaning forward in the chair, their knees touching, “You’re just as lost, and you don’t see how good you really are, and you need someone to believe in you just as much as I do.”

Her words make his voice catch, his mouth go dry.   She is not choosing him for the swagger he has affected or the life that he has led, but for the good that he has done and the man he is, underneath it all, hidden from the world.

“Killian,” she says, grabbing his face with both her hands and making him meet her gaze.  Her fingers are shaking, and so are his when he reaches up with his good hand to brush against her chin, to make her eyes close when he fists his hand in her hair and pulls her closer, into his lap.

She tastes like rum and cheese, just like he does, and she is absolutely _ridiculous_ in how she moves her hips against him (and he is equally as ridiculous in how he moves his hips back, arching towards her shamefully, pressing her close to him like he wants to crawl into her skin and stay there).  She gasps when his lips leave her mouth and trace her jaw, her collarbone, the skin below her ear.

It is only when they break apart, wide-eyed and panting, that she stands up.  She reaches for him, and he would follow her anywhere at that moment.

He follows her to his bed, clothes being discarded along the way until they are finally under the sheets and protected from the cold air that still penetrates his cabin despite the space heater’s presence.  She is marvelous underneath his hands, and he cannot stop touching her, tasting her, cannot get enough of the way she gasps under his ministrations, arching into him and urging him on with her erratic breathing and unholy moans.

When they shatter, they shatter together, kissing each other hungrily like there will be no other moment like this, and he knows there very well might not be.   It is too much to think that the Evil Queen and the Dark One and Snow’s family can live in a small town in peace and solitude, and there may very well be a new curse or an old one, some sort of repercussion for the quiet times, in their future.

But in this moment, caught up in her, there is nothing that he is worried about nor anything that he wants but this, this moment, forever and ever.

...

The next morning, they wake and she takes him to the lighthouse at the edge of the bay, not that far from his ship.  He does not think much of the fact that she opens the door with a key.

The lighthouse is small and mostly automatic, Emma explains, but it has the basic necessities and it needs someone to make sure that the ships don’t wreck themselves on the shore.  Killian admires the job of a lighthouse keeper, something new to this realm but a useful task at that.   He has lost many friends to shallow waters and hidden rocks.

“Do you like it?” Emma asks, and he shrugs, hands in the pockets of his jacket, bundled up against the cold.  The lighthouse has living quarters in a small house next door which they walk through – a small bedroom and kitchen, but most of all a view of the ocean that is only equal to that of his ship.

“It’s lovely, lass,” he tells her, though he does find the place dusty.

“Good,” she says.  “This is my new place.”

The announcement shocks him so she continues, quickly, “I want to give Mary Margaret and David their space and if they have a kid, they’ll need the room.  And I don’t want to crowd your space.”  She shrugs her shoulders.  “Besides, we need a lighthouse keeper so you could always come over and do your job,” she tells him.  She pulls another set of keys out of her pocket, and a badge that says “Captain Killian Jones, Storybrooke Harbor Patrol,” and hands it to him.

He stares at it for a moment, then back at Emma.  She smiles. 

“Are you sure that’s the only work you have for me, love?” he asks with a wink and she laughs, throwing her arms around him in a carefree way that he’s rarely seen with her but is so grateful to see now.

He can have Emma and the sea, his ship and his love, and it’s enough to make him kiss her and threaten to drag her into the small bedroom.   Emma loves through actions and he loves through words, and having her and the sea is more than enough.

 


End file.
